


Adventures in Fatherhood

by Cecils_Third_Eye



Series: Adventures in Fatherhood [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos Adapts to Night Vale, Cecil Has A Third Eye, Cecil is Inhuman, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute Kids, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Fights, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, Post Episode: e100 Toast, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10030709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cecils_Third_Eye/pseuds/Cecils_Third_Eye
Summary: It wasn't that Carlos didn't want to start a family with Cecil. No, it wasn't like that at all.But, stumbling to the front door at 4:34 AM - the first rays of sun were already kissing the horizon of their beautiful little desert community, and he, for once, found himself too tired to care that the sunrise shouldn't have been for another two hours at least - and swinging it open to reveal a grinning nine-year-old with Cecil's violet eyes and his sun-kissed caramel skin, he could admit that, one week removed from their wedding, he wasn't prepared for it to happen... well, now.





	1. Welcome, Cytherea

It wasn't that Carlos didn't  _want_ to start a family with Cecil. No, it wasn't like that at all. 

But, stumbling to the front door at 4:34 AM - the first rays of sun were already kissing the horizon of their beautiful little desert community, and he, for once, found himself too tired to care that the sunrise shouldn't have been for another two hours  _at least_ \- and swinging it open to reveal a grinning nine-year-old with Cecil's violet eyes and his sun-kissed caramel skin, he could admit that, one week removed from their wedding, he wasn't prepared for it to happen... well,  _now_. 

He wasn't sure how he knew that this child was his... but he chalked it up to the little voice in the back of his head that warned him against touching the grayish ooze that lived inside most clocks, speaking openly about some of his more... controversial experiments (such as understanding why, exactly, the clouds in Night Vale never seemed to produce rain... like,  _ever_ )... the voice that told him to snatch up Cecil before he came to his senses and realized just how  _imperfect_ he really was. 

The little girl had a mess of white-blonde hair piled in a bun atop her head, and was dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a tie-dyed shirt that seemed to be swirling around like a hypnotic spiral. Carlos frowned, "What's your name, honey?"

She laughed, as if there were something remarkably funny about his confusion. "It's Cytherea, Daddy! But you and Papa usually call me Siri."

"We do, huh?" This was just getting weirder and weirder. A lot of weird shit had been happening ever since the City Council legalized time travel... perhaps there'd been a rift in the space-time continuum that could account for this bizarre turn of events. 

"My lovely, beautiful Carlos..." Cecil trilled, shuffling out of their bedroom, one hand holding the front of his silver robe closed while the other rubbed sleep from his red-rimmed violet eyes. "What could possibly be so pressing as to keep you away from our bed at such a  _horrendous_ hour -,"

The Voice of Night Vale let out a rather undignified  _oomph_ as Cytherea shoved past Carlos and catapulted herself into Cecil's unprepared arms. "Papa!"

"Papa?" His confusion would've been adorable - the way his thick, dark eyebrows knitted together, violet eyes wide as he took in the beaming child now seated on his chest - under any other circumstances. And, as far as Carlos was concerned, it didn't last near long enough, as his features soon softened into a look of pure adoration and bliss. "Aren't you just beautiful!"

Sweet, childish laughter filled the air as Cecil tickled the little girl's sides. Carlos, still horribly confused, interjected, "Would you care to explain what's going on, Cece?"

Cecil, still fawning over their newly arrived daughter, responded, "Isn't it obvious, my perfect Carlos? Our little Siri -,"

Carlos cut him off, "It's scientifically impossible for two men to have a child, querido. I know that Night Vale doesn't really conform to the laws of nature or physics... but that's just biological fact."

Cecil had the nerve to  _laugh_. "There are some things you are simply not meant to understand."

"She's  _nine-years-old_ , Cece." And, as far as Carlos was concerned, nine-year-old children didn't just wander up to random stranger's homes and start calling the inhabitants 'Daddy'. That was just weird. "Her family - her  _real_ family - is probably worried sick about her."

Cytherea, clearly distressed at what she percieved to be Carlos' rejection, burrowed closer to Cecil. "Why is Daddy being so weird?"

He briefly recalled Cecil telling him about Earl Harlan, an old friend from high school that had allegedly spent decades as a nineteen-year-old... only to awaken one day, suddenly the proud father of an elementary-aged son, Roger. The story had seemed improbable at the time, and he'd suspected it was a way to cover up an incriminating one night stand that had left him with a child he was ill-prepared to raise. Children didn't just spawn out of thin air. Except, apparently in Night Vale... they did. 

Cecil was happily blabbering away, eager to distract the child while Carlos endured his existential crisis. Just when he thought he'd acclimated to Night Vale's weirdness, the town just had to go and throw him a damn curve ball.

The Voice of Night Vale went to retrieve a Yoohoo and a wheat-and-wheat-byproduct free protein bar from the kitchen, helping the little girl with the plastic straw and peeling back the plastic wrapping on the snack. He was suddenly thankful that Janice had spent the night earlier that week, otherwise they wouldn't have any child-appropriate food on hand. 

Minutes later, Cytherea sat on the couch, snuggled beneath a thick, furry blanket that may or may not have still been alive and happily slurping her chocolate milk. Cecil petted her hair fondly, before offering Carlos a strange look, "You shouldn't keep the door open like that. All the sand is blowing in and you disassembled the vacuum for spare parts  _weeks_ ago..."

"How are you so okay with this?" Carlos asked. He felt like someone had told a fabulous joke and the punchline had flown right over his head.

Cecil shrugged, "I've always wanted kids. I mean, it's totally awesome when I get to hang with Janice, but it's not the same, y'know? And Siri... she's just perfect, isn't she?"

"Cece, we've been married for a  _week_."

"So?" Cecil whined, "We've been together for over three years, Carlos. And never once, in all that time, did you ever think about one day having kids with me?"

Honestly, he couldn't believe that Cecil was trying to  _guilt_ him over this! They'd never once talked about the possibility of children, far too busy with just  _surviving_ the seemingly endless supernatural horrors that were the norm in Night Vale. And now, here was this child, a perfect mixture of their DNA... who was somehow  _significantly_ older than the three short years they'd been together. Under normal circumstances, she'd be a specimen he'd be eager to study. 

Cecil continued to fawn over their 'child', giving him a brief, thankful smile when he finally closed the door. Carlos shook his head. Maybe he'd missed the memo about the City Council issuing a town-wide nightmare and this was all one horrible,  _horrible_ dream. He turned, listening as Cecil complimented the child's 'nifty' shirt and Cytherea asked if his robe was made of  _real_ silver. It seemed his husband just had to know everything there was to know about the child that had suddenly been thrust upon them, and Cytherea was more than happy to comply. 

If Cecil's squeals of delight were any indication, it would seem that they had a lot in common. 

Carlos sighed, before turning and heading back to their bedroom. Hopefully, this would turn out to be a distant memory come 'morning'...


	2. Pyrokenesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think Daddy likes me very much.” Cytherea said softly. “And I don’t know why.”

When Carlos woke at 7, it was _silent_. As far as Carlos was concerned, silence in Night Vale was never a harbinger of anything good.

“Daddy!” All of a sudden, the events from earlier – which he’d been so desperately trying to convince himself was a dream – came rushing back. “I helped Papa make breakfast!”

With some difficulty, she presented him a tray of less-than-appetizing food. Carlos’ stomach churned and he swallowed back a sudden flood of saliva, the only warning his body saw fit to give him that further exposure to the possibly radioactive food would result in vomiting. Nevertheless, he took the tray from her and gave her an appreciative smile.

As Carlos poked at his eggs with a fork, silently worried that the oddly shaped yolk would actually turn out to be an eye and start blinking at him – it certainly wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen in Night Vale – Cytherea happily babbled about how Cecil had taught her to work the possibly-sentient coffee maker. The coffee, thank whatever deity was listening, at least _looked_ edible.

“Thank you, Siri. It looks… It looks delicious.” He was lying through his teeth, but it made her smile, so he figured that it was okay.

“I had a lot of fun cooking with Papa. He makes really yummy omelets.” Carlos looked at his egg again, which in no way resembled an omelet. Or even an egg, really.

What kind of food was this child used to, if she thought that Cecil’s food was _edible_ – let alone _yummy?_

Carlos sipped at his coffee, glad that it tasted half as good as it looked. He was silent for several moments, before asking, “Siri, where did you come from?”

The little girl’s smile faltered, “What do you mean?”

Carlos sighed, before deciding on a different approach, “How old are you?”

“Nine and a half,” she answered proudly.

“Well, your “Papa” and I have only been together for a little over three years. And I’ve only been in Night Vale for four. So how is it possible that we have a child that’s older than the length of time we’ve known each other?”

“Daddy?” Tears blurred her wide, violet eyes and her lower lip began to wobble.

It was Cecil to the rescue. Bursting into the bedroom just as the first tear threatened to fall, wearing that hideous apron over his equally garish (and only slightly tacky) silver robe, he handed the little girl her breakfast – yet another not-egg, which Cecil had somehow managed to fry into the shape of a heart, and slivers of bacon in a terrifying approximation of a smiley-face on the side.

He was singing off-key around an unlit cigarette, smiling from ear to ear when Cytherea gave a wet sniffle and began to dig in. Completely disregarding the silverware, she picked up the not-egg with one chubby little hand and stuffed it into her mouth, the yellow-orange yolk exploding all over her face and hand. Carlos cringed as he watched her, feeling his stomach clench again.

And Cecil was _laughing. Laughing_. This was the man who would chew Carlos a new one if he accidentally got crumbs in the sheets, and the child was about to use the _satin_ comforter as a napkin. What the hell was going on?

Carlos briefly entertained the idea of having woken up in a parallel universe as Cecil produced a wet nap from out of thin air and began to meticulously clean the child’s face and hand. He chewed on the filter of his cigarette, face lighting with surprise when Cytherea snapped the fingers of her clean hand and a thick plume of smoke began to trail from the cancer stick, nicotine and tobacco suddenly flooding his system.

The cup of coffee fell from his hand, shattering upon contact with the tile floor. Coffee splattered in every possible direction, and even some that defied the laws of physics. “Did she just… just _start a fire_ … by snapping… snapping her _fingers_?”

Cecil seemed disappointed, “Really, Carlos… I know that cups grow on trees, but that’s no reason to be wasteful.”

“Cecil, our – _that_ – child is _pyrokenetic_. I know that all of you in Night Vale seem to have a rather backward approach to danger, but really – _she can start fires with her mind_! Don’t you see how that could, potentially, be a _very_ bad thing?”

Cytherea pouted, her lower lip wobbling yet again. “Did I do something bad, Papa?”

“No, of course not sweetie.” Cecil kissed the crown of her head, before frowning, “Don’t be spouting nonsense, my lovely Carlos. Siri is every bit _our_ child.”

Carlos completely ignored Cecil’s none-too-gentle correction, “How can you be so calm about this?”

Cecil shrugged, “How do you think I got the breakfast to cook so fast?”

Once he deemed her hands appropriately clean, he returned his attention to his own food. Cytherea, smiling, moved his favorite ash tray from the bedside table to his breakfast tray, earning a gentle pat on the head for her efforts. She had Cecil’s thousand-watt smile, and despite himself, Carlos found his body relaxing. There was something about that smile that was so _disarming_.

When Cecil and Cytherea left to go wash the dishes, Carlos dumped his not-egg into the trash and set about cleaning up the glass. He didn’t want Cecil to step on one of the shards in his bare feet and accidentally hurt himself.

\--

It was Monday, which meant that Cytherea would start her first day at Night Vale Elementary. Carlos had brought up the fact that Siri had only shown up on their doorstep a few hours earlier and wasn’t actually registered to attend classes yet, but Cecil had given him that lovingly patronizing look that suggested his lack of knowledge of the inner-workings of Night Vale was frustratingly adorable.

Cecil pulled her hair back in a fish-tail braid and held the fly-away hairs at bay with a bright pink, crocheted hairband. She’d changed into a pair of khaki capris and white polo shirt, with a matching pink sweater vest on top. It matched Cecil’s outfit perfectly. It would’ve been adorable, had Carlos not been too busy trying to figure out when Cecil had found the time to get them matching outfits…

“I have to work late tonight, sweetie, so your Uncle Earl is gonna pick you up from school. You’ll know him when you see him. He’s really pretty – fair skin, red hair, freckles… he has a little boy your age. Maybe you’ll be friends.” Cecil said.

Cytherea seemed to consider this for a moment, before asking, “Does Uncle Earl like kids, Papa?”

Cecil, momentarily taken aback by the strange question, eventually shrugged. “I guess. I mean, he would have to. He’s a scoutmaster, he deals with kids all day, every day.” He handed the girl his old backpack. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t think Daddy likes me very much.” She said softly. “And I don’t know why.”

The Voice of Night Vale frowned, “What would make you say such a silly thing?”

She shifted uneasily, “Do Daddies usually ask where their kids come from?”

“No, I suppose that they don’t.”

“He just… he treats me like I’m different, and I don’t want to be different. I want… I want…” she picked at the fraying material of the bag, biting her lip until violet blood welled to the surface. “I just want to be normal.”

Cecil didn’t think that it was physically possible for him to hate Carlos – he simply couldn’t wrap his mind around any emotion other that complete adoration (and, occasionally, fond exasperation) for the man. But in that moment, watching Siri question her rightful place in their family because of Carlos, he really wanted to smack him. Or shake him. Or… or _something_.

Unsure of what to do, he pulled the small child into a tight hug and kissed the crown of her head, rubbing her back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. After a tense moment, Cytherea hugged him back, squeezing him with a surprising amount of force given her tiny frame. She wasn’t crying… but she was close.

“Normal is nothing more than a setting on the dryer. If he can’t see how wonderful your pyrokenesis is, that’s his loss. And if he can’t accept that children sometimes just materialize on your doorstep with no recollection of where they came from, well…”

“Is Daddy kainophobic?” Cytherea asked suddenly. Cecil blinked slowly, impressed she knew such an unusual word.

“You mean is Daddy afraid of new things or situations? I suppose it’s likely.” Cecil released her, turning her in the direction of the door. “But don’t worry about it now. I’ll talk to Daddy and everything will be sorted out by dinner, okay?”

Violet eyes narrowed at him, as if trying to decipher whether or not he was lying. “You promise?”

The Voice stuck out his finger, “Pinky promise.”

It was a fifteen minute drive to the elementary school, and with Cecil’s luck he pulled in right behind Steve Carlsberg’s 2014 platinum Highlander. The bane of his existence was currently unloading Janice’s wheelchair from the trunk, and when he saw Cecil pull into the bus circle behind him, he offered him a friendly wave. Cecil gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to flip him off.

Siri gave him a quick peck on the cheek before bounding out of the car, following Janice as she rolled into the building. From the smiles on both girls’ faces, it was clear they were getting along just fine. Cecil smiled, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding –

“Hey, Cecil! Wasn’t expecting to see you here this morning.” Steve said, that bright smile never fading as he closed up the trunk of his car. “In fact, I didn’t even know that you had a kid.”

“There’s a lot that you don’t know about me, Carlsberg.” Cecil hissed, before slamming the car into drive and pulling off much faster than the 15 miles-per-hour speed limit customary for school settings. “Carlsberg.” He growled. “ _Carlsberg._ ”

\--

“Now, listeners, if you will allow me to get personal for a moment…” Cecil was grinning from ear to ear, “I have the most exciting news. Ladies and gentleman, your humble community radio host has become a _father_.”

He looked down at the array of pictures on his desk – some of just him, mostly of him and Carlos at different stages in their relationship (his favorite picture from their wedding, a lovely depiction of their first kiss as husband and husband, had a special place of honor in the very center of the controlled chaos) – and resolved to add a new one of Cytherea very soon.

“My little Siri is… just _lovely_. Absolutely _lovely_. But could you expect anything less from genes as perfect as Carlos’? I think not.” He sighed into the microphone, “It is just a shame that perfect Carlos fails to see how perfect our sweet, sweet angel is.’

“I must confess, dear listeners, that I’m worried that Carlos does not actually want to have a child with me. That the shock of having our daughter just _show up_ on our door step _one week_ after our wedding – his words, not mine – will be too much for him to overcome. That he will… will _reject_ her, and…’

“I don’t know what to do. Before Carlos, I didn’t think it was possible to love something so completely, so _quickly_. But my love for him has only grown in these four years and yet… when I saw Siri, it was like love at first sight all over again, only completely different. And Carlos just doesn’t understand. How can I make him understand?’

“Siri thinks he doesn’t love her. I can’t… I can’t say that I’m wholly convinced of the alternative.”

What would he do if Carlos admitted that he didn’t want the child, that he would never warm up to the idea of sharing that level of responsibility and commitment with Cecil? Would he leave him? _Could_ he leave him? He thought back to the look of confused dejection on Cytherea’s face as she tried to understand exactly what she’d done to make her Daddy not want her anymore.

“I just… I don’t know what to do -,” he didn’t realize he was crying until, through blurry eyes, he saw his phone screen light up. “Just a moment, folks. It looks like I’m getting a text from Carlos right now… More on this story as it develops. Until then, I take you now to the weather.”

Cecil choked back a sob as he read over the four words capable of stopping his heart, a foreboding sense of dread building in his belly.

 _We need to talk._ ~ CarlosXOXO


	3. The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So now that the child has my DNA and yours, suddenly she’s not good enough for you?” Cecil countered brokenly, the tears beginning to fall. “Is it because she’s pyrokenetic? Because she has three eyes? Or is it just because she’s mine?”

By lunch, Cytherea had decided that she rather liked school. The other students treated her as if she weren’t a perfect stranger about to start her first day in a strange, unfamiliar place… but rather, like she’d always been there, and always _would_ be there. She was like an old friend that had just come back from a long vacation, or had just recovered from a serious illness. Like a sheep that had wandered from the fold, she was welcomed back into the flock with open arms…

She made friends easily. Though her teeth were not as perfect as a military cemetery, her smile was still radiant. And her eyes, just a few shades lighter than Cecil’s bright, violet orbs, were just as captivating. But it was her voice – high and trilling, as a pre-pubescent child’s is prone to be, yet somehow holding the same mystical richness of Cecil’s own – that seemed to draw people to her. They could not understand the how or why of it, but they were drawn to her nonetheless.

Roger had taken it upon himself to show her the ins and outs of the elementary school’s cafeteria. He’d already warned her not to make eye contact with any of the cafeteria workers. Their eyes – or rather, the gaping black voids where their eyes _should_ have been – were capable of driving a man to the brink of insanity. Looking deep into their eyes would reveal the long forgotten secrets of the universe… and then you would be whisked away by the Secret Police for re-education.

“Roger..?” She asked, pushing around her scoop of lumpy mashed potatoes smothered in a reddish-brown gravy. “Do you ever wonder… how we _got_ here? Like…” here, she sighed miserably. This wasn’t coming out right, “Like… why are we _here_?”

Roger shrugged, “Well, we’re here right now because City Council mandated that all children between the ages of six to eighteen attend schools with municipally approved curricula between the hours of -,”

Cytherea cut him off. “Well, yes, of course. But I don’t really mean why we’re at school. I mean… I mean… oh, I don’t know. Forget I said anything.”

“ _O_ -kay…” Roger looked at her uncertainly, before shrugging again. “You gonna eat that cookie?”

She tossed it to him, “Be my guest.”

Megan Wallaby joined them a few minutes later. Thanks to several years of intensive physical therapy, she now demonstrated a much greater control of her new, fully grown body. However, she’d had to drop out of school during the adjustment period and City Council had insisted that she pick up where she left off three years earlier – the fourth grade. As it turned out, her new, hulking body was causing all sorts of complications, the most pertinent of which being she no longer fit in the child-size desks.

“Hey, Megan!” Roger said cheerfully. He tossed her his apple, which she caught in her formerly sentient hand.

“You look nice today, Megan. That shirt really brings out the color of your eyes.” Megan flushed, unused to being on the receiving end of… well, any compliments really. It was rather difficult to communicate with a fully grown hand that could not speak in turn.

“I like your sweater vest.” Megan said, her words nearly indiscernible beneath her heavy Russian accent. “Is it new?”

Cytherea absently picked at the fraying material, “New? Not exactly. Dad kinda just pulled it out of the closet. I think it might’ve been Aunt Abby’s at some point, but I’m not really sure.”

Roger raised a crimson eyebrow, “Is something wrong, Siri?”

Siri furrowed her brows, “Wrong? Why on earth would anything be wrong? Everything is perfect!”

Megan and Roger shared a look, “She’s deflecting.”

“Deflecting? Deflecting _what_?”

“We don’t know.” Megan turned her hulking frame until she was facing Siri completely, “Why don’t you tell us?”

How could she tell them? How could she hope to explain to them what she herself did not understand? Up until earlier that morning, she’d had nothing but pleasant memories of her family. She could remember attending mandatory take your child to work days with her Papa at the radio station, or doing simple, practically harmless science experiments with her Daddy. Her Daddy… who was now treating her as if she wasn’t his child at all.

She sniffled, and her friends exchanged worried glances. Her cheeks flushed a dark violet and her hands balled into fists at her sides; she lowered her eyes and stared at her lap, hoping that they wouldn’t awkwardly gawk at her should she lose the battle and start to cry. A single tear slipped free and she sniffled again. After a moment of tense silence, Roger handed her a tissue. He was plagued by frequent nosebleeds, so he always carried a pack or two in his backpack.

She wiped at her eyes and blew her nose, determined to stop crying. “I…” She looked between the two of them, at their expectant and supportive faces, and swallowed hard, “I don’t think my Dad wants me anymore.”

\--

Cecil didn’t want to do this. But he was, if nothing else, an excellent reporter – and he owed it to the citizens of Night Vale to finish the story. So once he’d cut to the weather, he stepped out of his recording booth and made his way to the break room. Carlos was there, absently drumming his fingers on the mahogany table and staring at his IPhone screen. The three little dots signified Cecil was still typing, and he was probably waiting for Cecil to find a way to postpone their meeting until after the show.

Honestly, he wished that that had occurred to him sooner. Then, at least, he could preserve some air of professionalism and not have a complete breakdown on the air… which was looking more and more likely, as he could feel the uncomfortable, burning pressure behind his eyes that signified tears were soon to follow.

“You wanted to… talk?” Void, that word made his heart flutter in all the wrong ways.

“Cece…” He sighed, “We’ve talked about this before, honey. You know how I feel about you talking about our personal life on the air.” Which was true – if Cecil didn’t know better, he’d say that Carlos was embarrassed by his celebrity.

Cecil flushed, looking uncertain, “I know, I just -,”

Carlos shook his head, “No, Cecil – no ‘just’ this or ‘just’ that. I want to keep our personal life just that, _personal_. If you have a problem with me, I’d appreciate if you took it up with me instead of sharing it with the entire town.”

“B-But I don’t think you understand, my lovely Carlos. Sharing my personal life with my listeners is kind of like… therapy. I’ve never been very good with relationships, and you’re so, well, _you_ … I just… I keep screwing up.” Cecil said dejectedly.

Carlos frowned, “We need to talk about Cytherea.”

Cecil’s heart plummeted into his stomach, “What about her?”

“How are you so okay with a child materializing out of nowhere, claiming to be our flesh and blood? We should be running a whole battery of tests. Taking blood samples. Testing for radiation exposure. Not… Not just…”

“She’s not one of your science experiments, Carlos. She’s a human child -,”

“Is she?”

Cecil couldn’t believe it. Carlos was trying to treat their daughter like the house that didn’t actually exist – like she was some sort of phenomenon that needed to be carefully studied because she had the potential to be unbelievably dangerous. It also did not escape his notice that his husband wanted to take blood samples… as Carlos had had to become an official citizen to obtain a marriage license in Night Vale, he knew that the City Council kept blood samples from every citizen on file… just in case.

With a sample of her blood, he could run a paternity test without Cecil ever having to know. He was trying so hard to exclude Cecil from this process and that hurt in a way that Cecil hadn’t prepared himself for. Why was he so determined to prove that Cytherea wasn’t their daughter? After four years, why couldn’t he just accept that some things weren’t meant to be explained?

Cecil already knew the answer to that. It was because his beloved Carlos was a scientist, and any scientist worth their salt had a naturally inquisitive mind. Even if he understood that Night Vale was the most scientifically fascinating town in the United States, that wouldn’t stop him from wanting to explain the unusual, and sometimes downright frightening, happenings there.

He just didn’t think it would mean he would try to explain away their _daughter_.

“Did you _ever_ want to have children with me?” Cecil asked suddenly, realizing that Carlos had never actually given him a concrete answer before. “Because if the answer is ‘no’, just tell me. It’ll hurt a lot less than whatever _this_ is.”

“Of _course_ I want to have children with you, Cece! That’s not the problem here.” Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose in poorly concealed exasperation. “I just thought, you know – that we’d adopt. Maybe ever get a surrogate. But not… not…

“So now that the child has my DNA and yours, suddenly she’s not good enough for you?” Cecil countered brokenly, the tears beginning to fall. “Is it because she’s pyrokenetic? Because she has three eyes? Or is it just because she’s _mine_?”

Carlos looked like he’d been struck across the face, “Nothing would make me happier than raising a little _you_ , Cecil.”

Cecil stared at the floor, suddenly wishing that they were in the intern break room and he could be swallowed by the bottomless pit… “Coulda fooled me.” He grumbled.

“With everything that’s happened in the last four years, I would think that you would have learned how _stupid_ it is to trust _anything_ so blindly. Even a seemingly harmless little girl that claims to be your child.” Carlos said sharply.

“Siri wouldn’t hurt a fly!” Cecil’s head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes at his husband, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

“She could incinerate you with a thought! I don’t know about you, but I consider that pretty harmful!” Carlos had begun to shout.

“She’s a little girl!”

“She’s a _monster_ , Cecil!”

The resounding _smack_ as Cecil’s open palm made contact with Carlos’ cheek resounded in the hollow silence of the break room. Carlos’ chocolate eyes were wide as his head snapped to the side, an ugly purple bruise already visible on his caramel skin. Cecil’s hand hovered in mid-air, trembling. The tears were coming faster now, and he choked back a sob. He couldn’t believe that he’d… he’d _struck_ his perfect Carlos’ face…

Intern Mariah stuck her head into the break room, “You’re back on in thirty seconds, Mr. Palmer.”

Cecil opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ … but ended up looking like a fish out of water as his lips opened and closed in quick succession, never forming any actual words. Carlos wouldn’t look at him – instead, he was glaring at an unfortunate swatch of carpet. There was a suspicious gleam of would-be tears in his eyes, but Cecil didn’t comment on them. Instead, he turned around and rushed back to his booth, barely managing to sit down before the last chord faded into oblivion.

“W-Well, listeners… we would like to offer the following c-corrections to the story broken earlier regarding my newly arrived daughter, Cytherea…’

“Carlos is an excellent father and is in no way negligent of his duties toward Siri. Our d-daughter’s fears regarding Carlos’ complete lack o-of affection t-t-toward her are totally unfounded. And I am in no way planning to leave… t-to _leave_ … t-t-to…’

“I _c-can’t_ …” he choked back a sob, transmitting his misery to every citizen in Night Vale, “I j-just _c-can’t_ …”

\--

Earl was going to break Carlos’ fingers. Every bone. One at a time. And he was going to savor every delicious scream he managed to tear from the sorry bastard’s lips.

Cecil was still sobbing on the air when Earl pulled up in front of the elementary school. As one of the ‘lucky’ few that had had a kid fall into their lap from what seemed like nowhere, he understood the struggle. At first, there was a significant level of disassociation. How could you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this child was yours? They just showed up one day, with hundreds of memories – many of which included you – that you have no recollection of at all. It was more than a little weird.

But when Roger came charging over to the car, his face split in the biggest grin Earl had ever seen, he knew it was worth it. “Dad! What’re you doing here? Don’t you have to work tonight?”

Earl shrugged, “Can’t a dad pick his kid up from school every once in a while?” He teased gently, ruffling Roger’s dark red hair. “I have the night off, so I figured you’d prefer to ride in the air-conditioned car over the stuffy old bus.”

Roger handed over his backpack, letting Earl stow it safely in the trunk. Siri wandered over slowly, recognizing Earl from Cecil’s description. “Oh, Dad – this is my friend Cytherea.”

“Hi, Uncle Earl.” She gave him a weak smile as she handed over her backpack.

“Hey, kiddo.” Once everything was safely in the trunk, Cytherea and Roger climbed into the backseat and Earl started the car.

Once they were on the road, Earl asked, “Say… how would you two like to go out for dinner tonight? I know how much Roger likes the food at Tourniquet, I’m sure you’d like it too, Cytherea.”

“I don’t want to be a burden…” Siri mumbled. This was a complete 180 from earlier that morning with her Daddy.

Earl smiled softly, “You’re not a burden, honey. It’s my treat, okay?”

Her smile was a little stronger this time as she nodded, “Okay!”

Reaching into the pocket of his cargo shorts, Earl retrieved his cell phone and tossed it to Roger. “Text your Uncle Cecil and let him know that we’re gonna take Siri out to dinner. You know his number.”

Earl didn’t spend his time worrying about where Roger had been before he came to be with him. He doubted that Roger even knew the answer himself. And deep down, while he hoped that Roger never developed an overly inquisitive mind that led down a path of questions that simply didn’t have answers meant to be deciphered in this world or the next, he knew it was possible that Roger, one day, would ask him where he’d come from. But it should never, _ever_ work the other way around.

“Uncle Cecil says ‘thank you’ and ‘that he should be over to pick her up around 10’.” Roger said, looking at the phone screen. “Daddy, can I have pufferfish tonight?”

Earl would never understand his son’s utter fascination with the potentially deadly meal… but to each their own. “Sure, honey. What about you, Cytherea? What’re you in the mood for?”

She considered this for a moment, before asking, “Do they have chicken fingers and French fries?”

Earl chuckled. There was nothing like going to a five-star restaurant and ordering something you could get at Burger King. “Yes, sweetie. They have chicken and fries, too.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Cytherea exclaimed excitedly. “Let’s go!”

 


	4. Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earl shrugged, “You deserve better. Even if you can’t see it for yourself, I know it’s true.”

Cecil sipped at his mug of invisible coffee, desperate to still the shaking of his hands. He’d ended his broadcast in a hurried, messy jumble of words and then, in the horrible silence, stared into oblivion with only a half-empty mug of coffee for company.

His hand still stung, even if the redness of the skin had long since faded. He wondered where Carlos had gone. Was he still in the break room? Unlikely. After what had happened, he’d most likely gone back to the lab. He’d lock himself away with his test tubes and Erlenmeyer flasks, each bubbling with colorful and potentially deadly combinations of chemicals. He’d lose himself in his _science_ , his neat little world where everything was explainable… and what would Cecil do?

Cecil had never been particularly good at dealing with negative emotions. While he firmly espoused the motto “drink to forget”, he couldn’t… he just _couldn’t_ allow himself to get lost in the alcohol. Not now that he had Cytherea. There was a little girl that needed him desperately, a child that arguably couldn’t survive without him. He didn’t want to spend her childhood buried at the bottom of a bottle.

He took another sip of coffee… He wondered where he would go that night, not at all comfortable with the idea of returning to the home he so adored. It wouldn’t be the same without Carlos, but he didn’t want to be with Carlos right then either.

So what _did_ he want, then?

Reaching for his phone, he scrolled through the onslaught of messages that had come pouring in during the last half of the show. The messages were all fairly similar – messages of excitement and congratulations over his newfound fatherhood, messages asking if he was alright and if he needed anything… messages criticizing Carlos for what he’d said and done. But one message, one _peculiar_ message, stood out from the rest.

**I like it better when you smile.**

The number was unfamiliar, and when he went to text the mysterious person back his phone screen shattered and a brilliant, blinding light poured in through the cracks. Cecil frowned… that was really weird.

He flipped the phone over and pushed it away with a flick of the finger. The studio was thrust back into the safety of the darkness.

There was a knock on the door. The station’s newest intern, Micah, refilled his mug of invisible coffee. “Thought you might need this.”

“T-Thank you.” It smelled heavenly, and he took a long sip before wiping at his eyes. When had he started crying?

Intern Micah wordlessly passed him a box of tissues. Cecil gave her a weak smile.

“You know, Mr. Palmer… it’s perfectly normal for couple’s to fight. It doesn’t mean that Carlos -,”

“I’d really prefer it if we _didn’t_ use his name.”

She continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted, “It doesn’t mean that _he_ loves you any less.”

That was easy enough for her to say, considering that she hadn’t been there. She hadn’t heard what he’d said. Cecil took another sip of coffee, cursing at the way the caffeine only seemed to increase his trembling. He felt sick to his stomach, _his_ words bouncing around his head on a seemingly endless loop. _He’d_ called their daughter a _monster_ … How was he supposed to move on, to pretend like that had never happened? If he loved Cecil, he should be able to accept that Cecil loved Cytherea. End of story.

“Micah… make me a reservation for two at the Comfort Inn for tonight.” He said suddenly. While the idea of spending the night in a hotel was far from ideal, it was certainly better than the alternative – swimming in the middle of their custom-made bed, all alone.

“Are you sure, Mr. Palmer? The last time you stayed at the Comfort Inn, the maid attempted to hold you hostage until you agreed to make a guest appearance at her daughter’s birthday party. Seeing as her daughter was a fruit fly and had a life span of only a few hours, well…”

Cecil shivered, “You needn’t remind me. As a respectable, seasoned journalist I have been held hostage numerous times before -,”

“By a woman who believed she could see the future in her bucket of dirty mop water?” Micah asked incredulously.

“Well… no. Besides, everyone knows that the water needs to be _clean_ in order to get an accurate vision.” Cecil rolled his eyes, as if this fact were completely obvious. “But, I must admit, she was a particularly unpleasant captor. She didn’t even let me watch _Game of Thrones_!”

Even as she scribbled the information down on her notepad, she countered, “Then why in the hell would you want to go back?”

Cecil shrugged, “They offered me a fairly decent “pain and suffering” package. Their best room, pay-per-view, and room service for half off. I just never had a reason to take them up on their offer before.”

Micah nodded, “I’ll make the reservation.”

As Micah exited the recording booth, Cecil’s phone went off again. He picked it up warily, still rather unsure of what to make of the blinding light that had poured out of his screen just a short while ago. His screen showed one new message from Earl, and attached was a picture. Smiling for the first time in what felt like a small eternity, he opened the message to see Earl, Roger, and Siri all squeezed together in the frame, grinning from ear to ear. Roger was giving Siri bunny ears, and Siri was sticking her tongue out at Roger.

Cecil sniffled, before quickly tapping out a reply. Taking a tissue, he scrubbed at his eyes until they burned, before blowing his nose. There was no more time for tears. Now… there was work to be done.

\--

“Thank you again for watching her. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Cecil gave his friend a bright smile as his sleepy daughter was handed over. He was surprised at how light she was, how easy it was to tuck her away into the protective circle of his arms.

“Don’t even mention it.” Earl waved him off. “She’s a dream. And she and Roger get along nicely.”

Cecil stroked her back gently, his smile softening a bit when stretched and made herself comfortable in his embrace. “I’m glad.”

Earl watched him for a moment, before patting him firmly on the shoulder. “It gets easier. I mean, I’ll admit our situations are rather different. When I came into fatherhood, I didn’t have a significant other to worry about. I just had this little rascal.” He smiled at his son.

Cecil squeezed his eyes closed, smile faltering as his lips pressed in a thin, purple line. “Carlos doesn’t want her.”

Earl shook his head, “I doubt that, Cece. I’ve seen the two of you together. As much as you hero-worship that man… well, he damn well worships the ground you walk on, too. Given the right circumstances, I think nothing would make him happier than having a family with you.”

“T-The things he said…” the memories returned, unbidden, as tears that blurred his vision.

Earl was silent for a moment, before whispering lowly, “I told him, on your wedding day, that if he ever hurt you I would take great delight in making him wish that he’d never been born. Trust me – I’m beyond tempted to make good on that promise.”

But Cecil shook his head, “P-Please… don’t hurt him.”

“The only reason I haven’t is because I know how much it would upset you.” Earl said, “But the offer always stands.”

They talked a bit more – Earl careful to avoid mentioning he-who-shall-not-be-named. He offered Cecil dinner, knowing that it was unlikely that the radio host had taken the time to stop to eat before coming over, but Cecil politely declined. He wanted to be on the road as soon as possible, so that he could make sure that Cytherea was fully rested for school tomorrow. It was at this point that Earl offered Cecil the guest bedroom, offering to blow up the air mattress that he kept stored in the hall closet… but Cecil declined once again.

“I hope that you know that you’re always welcome here. Even if… well, you know.” Earl rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, unsure how much would be considered _too_ much to say.

Cecil smiled softly, attempting to appear comforting. “Thank you, for everything. I know that it isn’t easy for you.”

Earl shrugged, “You deserve better. Even if you can’t see it for yourself, I know it’s true.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Cecil said easily, “But we can’t help who we fall in love with. Sometimes, family chooses us.”

He smiled at his little girl, before giving Earl a soft look. He knew his friend would understand. Like he’d mentioned earlier, while their situations were not identical, there were enough similarities there to draw a parallel. Just because he didn’t actually remember having Roger didn’t mean that he loved his son any less… Even if it had been awkward at first, once he’d finally gathered the courage to ask his son his name, they just continued to grow closer and closer. Cecil could only hope for the same with his own daughter.

He had several strong models for single parenthood – his mother, his sister… If it came down to it, he knew that he had enough of a support system to raise his daughter on his own. He wasn’t going to just give up on her because Carlos couldn’t get his act together. He and Abby had been perfectly fine without a male role model in their lives… Janice had been thriving before _Steve Carlsberg_ came into the picture and tried to fill her mind with forbidden knowledge. Cytherea would be fine, too.

Earl walked him out to the car, helping him to get Cytherea settled in the backseat. After all, he had more experience maneuvering sleeping children. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call, alright?”

“Maybe the kids can have a sleepover sometime.” Cecil suggested softly. “I just… it just occurred to me that bedtime might be difficult, considering the late hours that I keep at the radio station.”

Earl shrugged, “I really don’t mind watching her after school, if that’ll help you out.”

Cecil frowned, “But you usually work the night shift at Tourniquet. I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you.”

But Earl waved him off, “The other chefs don’t really mind if the kids hang around the kitchen. They usually have them wash the dishes and perform other menial tasks that are below our paygrade.”

Cecil raised one pale eyebrow, “Isn’t that considered child labor?”

The Scoutmaster seemed to consider this for a moment, before shaking his head, “I don’t think so. I mean, they’re paid handsomely for it. Who do you think eats all the food that the customers send back?”

“Ahh…” Cecil didn’t seem too terribly convinced. “Let me get back to you on that.”

A few minutes later, once he and Earl had said their goodbyes, he was on the road. As he pulled onto Route 800, which would take him to the outskirts of town, Siri began to stir in the backseat. She gave him a tired smile, rubbing at her violet eyes with balled up fists. He gave her a soft smile in return, before telling her that they would be spending the night in a hotel.

Siri frowned, “Did you and Daddy have a fight?”

Cecil’s smile faltered a bit, before he shook his head. “Of course not, sweetie. Now, why don’t you go ahead and go back to sleep? By the time you wake up, we’ll be at the hotel.”

She yawned, before smacking her lips wetly. Her violet eyes slipped closed. “Okay, Papa. Love you.”

A tear chased down Cecil’s cheek, “I love you too, angel. I love you too.”

\--

“Sir… correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure that shouldn’t be emitting smoke of that color…” one of Carlos’ assistants, a pretty young woman with long brown hair piled in a bun atop her head, pointed her pen at the Erlenmeyer flask bubbling beside him.

“Hmm? What was that?” Carlos looked up from his phone, where he’d been typing and erasing messages to Cecil since he’d arrived at the lab.

The smoke smelled faintly of charcoal, and was a dark, reddish-purple. It complemented the ugly bruise on his cheek rather nicely.

Notes were scattered all over Carlos’ desk, detailing the specifics of the experiment. Honestly, he couldn’t even remember what they were studying, let alone what color the smoke should have been. But he wrinkled his nose when a particularly strong undertone of sulfur hit him. The smoke was sparking and clapping like a thundercloud, growing steadily bigger until it had formed a cloud over his desk…

Carlos returned his attention to his phone, willing Cecil to write something, _anything_ , so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the harsh reality of putting his heart on the line only to have it be brutally rejected. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to love Cytherea. But after everything that had happened with StrexCorp, not to mention all the little oddities that Night Vale should’ve been famous for… how could he still trust so blindly? How could he ever recover if it turned out that Cytherea wasn’t everything he thought she was?

“Sir, you might want to move away from your desk… now.” Her voice was panicked as she eyed the bolts of lightning illuminating the cloud.

“I never should’ve gone down to the radio station.” Carlos mumbled, finally setting the phone down. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe things wouldn’t have blown so far out of proportion if -,”

“Look out!” The assistant screamed… but it was too late.

A bolt of lightning burst from the cloud and hit Carlos in the back, knocking him from his chair and sending him sprawling onto the floor. The cloud gave a particularly nasty rumble, before fumes of an entirely different sort began to fill the room and a downpour of acid rain began. Like literally acid… holes were beginning to burn through his protective lab coat, the acid easily working its way through the flimsy material.

“Carlos!” In her haste to make it over to her fellow scientist, she bumped into the desk and knocked over one of the various, bubbling flasks, releasing a chemical catalyst that sped up the reaction within the chemical cloud…

The room was enveloped in a blinding, white light as another bolt of lightning struck. And then there was silence.


End file.
